212 and counting
by Gummysaur
Summary: 212 years ago on this day, July 12th, Alexander Hamilton died with Angelica and Eliza at his side.


**it's still technically the day hamilton died so i pushed out an "anniversary" fic of sorts. this is barely proofread im sorry**

* * *

" _Wait!"_

It was strange. The bullet wound didn't feel like Alexander imagined. It was an impact more than pain—maybe that was the adrenaline and shock talking. He was more struck by the fact he'd actually been shot; he could so clearly envision coming home to Eliza before she'd awoken, brushing her hair out of her forehead as he sat in bed next to her, a luxury he'd only recently regained. A stab of regret went through him. If he'd known he was going to be shot, he would've put more effort into his goodbye letter. Black spots filled his vision; he caught the sound of footsteps racing towards him and a scuffle.

" _Alexander—!"_

When he blinked, he was in a boat in the middle of the Hudson. He was lying on his back; he searched the sky, confused. Only a second ago he'd been…

A burning, unbearable pain wailed in his side. He gave an involuntary gasp and pressed on the spot, breath rattling in through his teeth. Someone rowing the boat gave him a worried look.

Alexander's hand was sticky. He shakily lifted it, blocking out the sun at the same time. It was covered in a thick, red substance. He opened and closed his fist in dazed wonder. Was this _blood?_ His blood? Obviously, of course it was. He'd just been shot. He'd seen blood before, seen his _own_ blood before, but never like this—cloying and so _much._ He thought it would flow more, be a brighter red. He stared at it in wonder for another moment before his vision went blurry again. He squinted, struggling to clear away the dark, fuzzy splotches.

This time, when his eyes were clear, he was in a room, still lying down. A tough mattress stayed under him, the walls a mix of different types of wood. He took short, shallow breaths, trying not to irritate the wound in his side.

He was _dying._ He didn't know how to feel—his first thought was of comfort. For once he knew exactly where his future was headed, no matter how bleak. Then it was a furious cacophony of thoughts. He had hundreds of things to do—he couldn't leave his family behind—he couldn't go so early—

A familiar, terrified voice broke through.

"Where's my husband?!"

"Mrs. Hamilton…"

Alexander instinctively tried to sit up and gave a cut-off yelp in pain, holding his hands to his side like it was a lifeline.

 _It's not,_ his brain offered helpfully. _Quite the contrary. Your side is the reason you're dying._

 _Thanks,_ he responded.

The door burst open, and there stood his perfect, beautiful wife, Eliza. Her face was devastated, pale. He offered a weak smile.

"Eliza," he greeted softly.

"Alexander," she responded, watery and breaking. "What did you do? Oh, what did you do this time?"

His final letter was clutched in her shaking hands.

"I'm so sorry." he subtly wrapped his arms around himself, sending a prayer of thanks that he wore black. He didn't want his dear Eliza to see his bloodstained chest.

"My Alexander," she cried, falling on her knees to his side. "I can't. I can't lose you, not with everyone else."

"Shh." he reached out a hand to stroke her hair, then saw how it was slick with his blood. He pulled away as if the air between them was scalding. Luckily she hadn't noticed; she was rubbing her eyes. "It's going to be okay, love. It's all going to be alright."

"The doctor said this was Burr." her voice was deadly quiet now. "Is that true?"

"…Yes," he answered after a beat.

"The bullet hit your hip and ricocheted into your ribs."

He winced.

"He said you're going to die." her lips trembled. "Alexander. I can't lose you. I can't lose you, too. Our children. Our family…"

He wished he could take it back. He wished he could go back in time. This had all been a stupid idea for his stupid pride and now he was dying, leaving behind his wife and kids and a questionable legacy at best.

"I'm so sorry, Eliza," he apologized. How could he ever express his regret to her? He had to figure out soon. He was _really_ running out of time, now. "I love you and our kids so much—" he took a deep breath, trying to find words, before instantly regretting it as a terrible, ripping pain bit its way through his ribs. His attempt at holding back his instinctual scream resulted in an ugly series of hisses.

"Alexander," Eliza said, voice jumping higher in terror. She circled her arms around him as she'd done for Phillip, brushing hair out of his face. Oh, she was going to get blood on her dress.

"I'm fine," he growled, lying through gritted teeth. "Eliza, I—"

The door slammed open, startling him and rubbing the bullet against bone. He whined in distress, but luckily for him a new voice drowned it out.

"I came as soon as I heard!"

"Angelica," Alex greeted, voice hoarse. A small bloom of joy opened in his chest at the thought that at least he would die with the two most amazing women in his life near his bed.

 _There's already a hole in your chest, no need to open any other ones,_ his brain remarked, the smarmy bastard.

 _You'll shut up eventually, you know that,_ he shot back. _We're going to die in probably a few minutes._

"Alexander?" Angelica asked worriedly. He hadn't even noticed, but he'd closed his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Alex gave a thumbs up.

"That was a dumb question." she rested her hand on his, eyes glittering with tears. "It's…pretty obvious, right?" she made eye contact with Eliza, a silent question. She gave her sister a small nod.

He wanted to respond, but his eyes were so heavy, the blood on his hands cooling.

"Alexander, you have to stay awake," Eliza said, her voice small and far-away sounding.

He tried to open his eyes, but it was as fuzzy and black as when he closed them. Was he fading? Dying already? He fumbled for words—he had to apologize, had to confess, had to build buildings of words, like he'd done his whole life. Write his way out, sway minds with speeches, why _now_ of all times were the words escaping him, why _now_ was breath so hard to find?!

Once more his vision cleared. The room was darker, Eliza and Angelica asleep by his side.

Agony pulsed deeply in his side, a drum so powerful that his death was an absolutely imposing certainty. He could only compare it to the moment before vomiting, a sort of "oh, so we're really doing this" thought.

"Eliza," he whispered. His voice was raspy, weak. No time to think. He had to move his dear Eliza's heart one more time. One more time, before he lost it all and the Earth swirled out and his body went cold and the sun lost meaning and he was met _home_ with warm arms in another world.

She awoke suddenly, her head shooting up and eyes meeting his.

"You're alive," she said weakly, hopefully. His heart broke for getting those hopes up. He placed his hand on her face, and her eyes flicked to his hand, fingernails encrusted with dried blood. She sucked in a breath.

"I want you to know," he whispered—and this was going to be harder than he thought, he was losing air, but he couldn't breathe deeply, he only had so many words before he was gone. "I'm _so_ sorry, I'm so sorry for all of this. I regret—I regret not being true to you more than anything, I—" he took a series of small breaths, throat closing. "I love _you_ and our children, nobody can ever take that ever again, even in the afterlife, I—"

"Alexander." she placed two fingers on his lips. "I forgive you. I love you." Tears streamed down her cheeks, washing away any blood he'd accidentally left.

Angelica shifted next to him, then suddenly shot up. "Is he—"

Eliza gave another small nod. Angelica immediately placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Angelica," he forced out. "Forgive me for hurting you and your sister. I love you both." He was just repeating himself! He had to say something of meaning! He had to, had to, had to had to say—

"It's okay," she interrupted, cutting off his thoughts. "It's all okay, Alexander. I…" she hesitated. "I forgive you. You're an idiot, but something about you really makes it hard to stay mad for long."

"Tell that to Burr," he managed. The two women barked out a hopeless laugh. Keeping the mood up had never been any of their strong suits. "And…thank you. Thank you for making this…life worth it. You gave me…nothing could replace…"

"Shh, shh," Eliza soothed, voice soft and comforting even through her tears. "It's okay."

"Don't go after Burr, his career's…probably ruined anyway," he continued, offering a weak smile. "He regrets it. I heard him, right after he…"

"Shh." she cupped his face with her hands while Angelica held his hand. "Don't worry."

"I…" he couldn't finish. It hurt too much, a lead-heavy weariness infusing his bones down to the marrow. These would be his last words. "I'll see you…on the other side."

The black spots that were becoming familiar to him now filled his vision.

"Alexander," he heard, but he couldn't tell who it was. Maybe Eliza. Maybe Laurens, a smile gracing his face as he held his arms out. Maybe his mother, a soft, sweet look in her eyes as she stood behind Phillip, who was holding a huge grin as he waved. Maybe Washington, nodding his head in acknowledgment, a twinkle of affection in his eyes. His last breath was a soft whisper of relief.

At least the feeling of being satisfied was something new.


End file.
